


Stitches

by radioaktiv



Series: Fallout Prompts [4]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Developing Friendships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Haphephobia, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Stitches, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23281624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioaktiv/pseuds/radioaktiv
Summary: He had repeated time and again to himself that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but his new employer had rarely given him reason to wonder if she fit in the sinners or the saints.Lowering his gaze to the laceration in his arm, he tested opening and closing his palm, flexing the muscle. It stung, but hardly life threatening. Still, it wasn’t a particularly pretty sight and a tactical disadvantage more significant than getting stitches and wearing bandages.Charon unsuccessfully tries to avoid having a wound stitched, finding difficult to dodge the friendly advances of his very determined employer.Written for Whumptober day 11, "Stitches".
Relationships: Charon (Fallout)/Female Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout)/Lone Wanderer
Series: Fallout Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1396564
Kudos: 27





	Stitches

“I’ve already told you.” Charon growled, pulling the arm away from her insistent reach and closer to his torso. “It’s _nothing_.”

She groaned loudly, eyebrows tugged into a frown, then fell back on her heels.

The protagonist to their quarrel was a wide open gash that ran through the inner side of his forearm, product of a combat knife. A stimpak had controlled the bleeding, and a second one would surely do the rest of the job.

Well, not for _her_.

“It’s _not_ nothing,” Farren insisted, gesturing at the wound. “You can’t parade about with that thing like this. You’re not immune to getting an infection.”

“You are a _very annoying_ smoothskin, did you know that?” He hissed, determined to be uncompromising.

There were rare occasions where adrenaline was pumped into his veins outside combat, mixing all his senses into one nauseatingly. He already felt bile daring to travel up his mouth by the threat of her proximity.

The vault dweller scrutinized him with the same grievance for a few seconds, then let out a deep sigh and lowered her shoulders, expression shifting to defeat.

An awkward silence was cast upon them, only the cracking wood of the campfire filling the room besides the usual metal wailing of the Capital Wasteland as the orange from the flames licked the scene around.

Charon eyed her warily, finding her gaze set elsewhere, expression unreadable. Months ago the quiet would have been a welcome blessing. This one wasn’t. He didn’t know whether to feel anger or contentment at the fact - she had been crawling under his skin slowly but surely.

“Did you really get upset at that?” He blurted before his brain told him otherwise.

Only her blue irises moved to look at him.

“I don’t see that as an insult, so if you were trying, you need to do better.” The corners of her eyes softened, though she remained guarded, arms crossed so closely she might have been just hugging herself. “I’m angry at the fact I have to beg you to take proper care of yourself.”

 _That_ caught him off guard.

He had repeated time and again to himself that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, but his new employer had rarely given him reason to wonder if she fit in the sinners or saints.

Lowering his gaze to the laceration in his arm, he tested opening and closing his palm, flexing the muscle. It stung, but hardly life threatening. Still, it wasn’t a particularly pretty sight and a tactical disadvantage more significant than getting stitches and wearing bandages.

It was his turn to sigh hoarsely through his decayed vocal cords.

He slowly extended the limb toward her on the air, suspended stiffly.

There was a moment of silent evaluation between them, the sudden willingness making _her_ suspicious in turn. Then she dragged herself closer cautiously, as if afraid to spook a cat, grabbed his arm with almost just the fingertips, then laid it gently on her knees.

He flinched, feeling like the touch was electric. A wave of nausea rode him abruptly and he was forced to close his eyes, unwilling to give into the world shifting out of focus.

Farren gave him time, actions suspended and ready to withdraw, but he didn’t shy away. Strangely, Charon realized it wasn’t nearly as bad as the other times where touch had turned him a cornered animal.

Hoping to shove the focus away from this agonizing humiliation, he blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“And how’s _me_ not taking care of myself your fault?”

“It’s not.” Farren shoot back right away, quietly. “I’m not angry at myself.” She motioned him briefly, as if pointing to him as a situation rather than a person. “More angry to whoever did this.”

Charon watched through the narrowed corners of his eyes as she dug into the first-aid box, took soap and water and focused on the matter at hand.

“You could have ordered it.” The phrase came out more as a question rather than a statement.

“I could,” She said, still without looking at him. “But I don’t want to.”

“You’re very bad at this business then.”

“I am.” Farren snorted, though her hands remained surprisingly steady at the motion.

“Why buy it at all then?” He frowned. “The contract.”

She paused, chewing on her lower lip, visibly scrambling after words.

Honesty was the chosen tone.

“ _I-_ I wasn’t going to survive very long. Alone, I mean. And I needed a reassurance you weren’t going to… _turn-_ against me.” Her head swung negatively. “And Ahzrukhal was a bastard.”

“Can’t argue with that.” It was meant to be a scoff, but he grunted uncomfortably instead as she scrubbed the area with soap and warm water. At this point he didn’t know what was stinging, the wound or her contact. “And the catch is?”

“I just don’t think you’re going to do anything… wrong.”

“That so?” He went quiet, an excuse to breathe as he struggled with the air, set on not displaying even more discomfort. “You could be mistaken.”

Despite the bitterness in his tone, she didn’t even hesitate to reply.

“I could, but I don’t think I am. You probably know better than anyone on being forced against your will to do something.”

She rinsed the soap away, then looked at him briefly.

“Maybe I’m wrong, that explains why I got played for a fool in the first place. But I still prefer to expect the best and not the worst on people.”

There was simply silence then.

He was too busy trying to make sense of this starry-eyed vault dweller who insisted on not being corrupted by the tainted part of the Wasteland, the same one chewing on her. And busy controlling his own breathing, focusing somewhere else but the burning sensation where their skin touched.

The discomfort had grown… odd. His body reacted more out of exposure rather than imminent danger. It wasn’t as if _her touch_ was the problem.

The issue was that she somehow got permission enough to keep these barriers down, and this translated as him not being vigilant enough. And all of this was confusing enough on its own.

He didn’t like to think of it.

She injected a quarter of a dose of Med-X, waited for it to take effect as she sterilized the needle in the flames, then held it just above the torn gap on the rugged skin to look at him.

Charon gave her permission with a reluctant nod, and she began to work calmly.

“It’s not the needles, right?” Her eyes never left the place where the metal punctured one place to emerge on the other.

“No.” He hesitated for a moment, then exhaled and looked away. “I don’t like being touched.”

“I see.” The judgmental note expected in her voice never came. She was still as water, like usual. “But ‘not liking’ still isn’t really the _right_ feeling, is it?”

His silence was enough answer.

At this point, there was just a trail of uncomfortable warmth where her fingers came in contact, and the nausea had subsided. He could still feel his heart beating rapidly inside his chest, adrenaline unbridled, but devoid of dread.

“I can teach you to do it on yourself for next time, if you prefer.”

“... there’s no need for that.” He admitted quietly, seeing her frame relax slightly. “You done?”

She nodded.

He drew away then, all limits spent for the night. Farren didn’t follow, pushing the box on his direction instead so he’d bandage the area, and went to sit on the other side of the fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to my beta reader [lookbluesoup](https://lookbluesoup.tumblr.com/)! <3


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